


Erasing the Scars

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Turkey's A+ Parenting, historical baggage, implied slight pedoturk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musing about how it could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erasing the Scars

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=18603480#t18603480) for [this prompt](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=18129442#t18129442) and not kindexed yet.

Turkey stared at the ceiling and wished the air conditioner in the room would start up and make some noise so he wouldn’t hear Greece breathing next to him.

He was a little drunk, not much – not enough to make an excuse for why he was lying naked in bed next to Greece. Or rather, plenty of excuse, because nobody ever asked him for one. Of course Turkey wanted to strip Greece naked and make the beast with two backs. It was what happened to conquerors: they clung to those they’d conquered.

It was Greece who would need an excuse, and Greece hadn’t been drunk at all. But Turkey didn’t know what Greece, who wasn’t hurting for people to share his bed with, was doing trying to get _him_.

Turkey wasn’t going to ask that question. He suspected he wouldn’t get the answer he wanted. Of course, the answer he wanted was along the lines of _Well, I’ve been thinking about the current economic difficulties, and obviously it would help the twins if we united, and on top of that I’d like to share Constantinople, so how about it? Oh, and so long as you don’t take advantage of it, my ass’ll be yours._

Yeah. Not getting that, for a number of reasons. Not even starting with how Greece had fucked him like he’d had decades to learn Turkey’s body instead of just a couple of angry frottage sessions at jet-lag hours of the night at international conferences since the Second World War.

Turkey felt – raw, opened, hungry. If it had been anyone other than Greece, Turkey wouldn’t have let him do it. If Turkey had been anyone else, he’d have already been asking for more of the same.

“You ever wonder,” Turkey asked, “what it would’ve been like if we’d been regular humans?”

“I would have died several centuries before the common era, and you would have lived and died in the early eighth century.”

“Fuck you. I mean now. Or then, whenever. As diplomats or whatever. You as the Greek ambassador to Turkey.”

“You mean the ambassador’s young son, who was then kidnapped by a Turkish bureaucrat.”

Turkey swallowed the instinctive _Fuck you_ that wanted to come out. He’d already said that. Getting irritated just told Greece he’d hit a sore spot.

“Then do I get to be the bureaucrat’s son who’s just happy to have a playmate?”

Greece shifted, the mattress dipping as he rolled onto his side, closer to Turkey. “It would be out of character.”

Turkey tried to think of a rebuttal to that, but it was true. One of the muscles in his left shoulder was starting to hurt, like he’d pulled it; he reached across his chest to try to massage it away.

“University student fixated on a student at a lyceum.” Greece said finally.

Turkey glanced over at him. There was hair trailing down into Greece’s eyes, a part of a curl falling across his cheek. He looked sleepy and bored, but his eyes were open, and he was watching Turkey, lips parted slightly.

Turkey looked back at the ceiling. “Meeting in nineteen seventy-three.”

Greece didn’t say anything. Maybe thinking of their sons.

“And you’d think I was such a dick you’d spend six months trying to avoid me.”

“People who suggest that there are better uses for cat food – like not giving it to the stray cats in the park – tend to get that reaction from me.”

Turkey grinned up at the ceiling and didn’t even care if Greece saw. “Like that. And of course this university student would be pissed off at being told off by a kid and need to come back.”

“For two months.” The mattress shifted, but he didn’t know what Greece had done to make it do that. “An annoying two months.”

“And then at some point I’d bring cat food myself.” Turkey grinned, all teeth, and turned his head. Greece didn’t look sleepy anymore.

“I don’t think it would be the cats whose favor you were trying to win,” Greece said lowly.

Turkey raised the knee closer to Greece, set his foot flat on the bed in hopes that it would sort of cover the effect the not-quite-fantasy was having on him. “Not at all.”

“And by that point I’d probably figure it was better to give you what you wanted so you’d go away.”

“The problem with assuming people just want sex,” Turkey breathed, “is that sometimes they don’t.”

“You’d take it anyway.” Flat and spare, and true. Wasn’t that what Turkey had done now? Shoved everything else he wanted into a dark corner of his mind just to get what Greece was willing to give him, not nearly enough.

“Yeah, I would. And then go back to the park the next day.”

“Where I’d ask what you were doing, since you’d gotten what you wanted, hadn’t you.”

Turkey had to stop himself from saying what wanted to come out. _You have no idea what I want,_ or _You mean I got a marriage and a joint living situation, and two kids who get along most of the time, and a spouse who only fights with me over dirty clothes and bills paid late and inconvenient times to have sex instead of whether or not genocide has been committed and who won’t mention that we have two sons instead of just one?_

“I’d say I was feeding the cats.”

“You’d be trying to annoy me.”

Turkey laughed. “I don’t even have to _try_ to do that.”

Greece didn’t say anything to that, but his fingers brushed across Turkey’s side, over to his chest, wrist heavy pressure over Turkey’s ribs as he traced the scars on his chest from losing Mecca and Medina. One over each lung. He lowered his hand, spread it flat over Turkey’s abs, thumb lying along the almost surgical cut that England had made taking Egypt from him.

“And what would you say to your fellow cat-feeder?” Turkey asked.

“I’d say you shouldn’t expect the same favors next time, because if you were set on making things permanent you hoped for too much.” Greece’s hand slipped lower, past Turkey’s leg, to take him in hand and pump him slowly.

Turkey grinned over at him and rocked into his hand. “Doing the same thing every time would get boring.”

“Good.” And Greece let go of him, got out of the bed, and started dressing. He wasn’t even hard. Turkey went cold, fast. Sat up.

“What the hell’re you doing?”

“Making it different,” Greece said.

“I wasn’t talking about –”

“If you want a human life, you should go live as a human, like Tibet does sometimes. You can’t sacrifice your history to get a fantasy version of me. I won’t follow you there.”

“Then where do you want me to follow you?” That was desperation talking, and Turkey knew it was a bad idea to open his mouth when he got that upset, and did it anyway, and here he'd said something -

Greece looked at him pityingly, his belt half-fastened, still shirtless. “I’d prefer that you didn’t,” he said.


End file.
